Reason To Smile
by CowboyHat
Summary: OneShot. Slight angst. Stowed away in a hospital room, what's your reason to smile?


The Shape of the Heart

Yukimura Seiichi

Yukimura Seiichi didn't have to smile when nobody was around—in truth, _because_ nobody was around, he didn't have a _reason_ to smile.

Bleak, quiet, sobering. The hospital room lacked any form of excitement or hope, and it was noticeably void of the energy that came in the form of pinkish hair and mauve eyes, a tangled mess of ebony curls just as untamed as the owner's personality, witty charm with a melodic rhythm of speech, a mature voice of reason, proper speech and actions, and a stony countenance shadowed by a deep blue cap.

Without visitors, the room seemed bigger, like a hollow void that sucked the spirit out of him, making him feel even more fatigued.

Once again, in the pursuit of relief from monotony, the tennis captain's eyes swept across the room. His chest squeezed crushingly when all he was met with was spotless white walls, so clinically pristine it made his eyes hurt, bleached-out green curtains, a slow suburb below, and tubes attached to a standby IV that were stowed with such care that they were perfectly in order, so Yukimura couldn't even try to untangle a knot in his mind to pass the time.

The teen rolled his head to the side, trying to search the unchanging street below again as a silent sigh escaping his downturned lips. His gaze flew right past the completed 500-page book of crossword puzzles that his underclassman had given him.

_"Well," he said as he offered it, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly as Niou and Marui snickered at him, "I think you'll find this more useful than I did."_

A small, worn smile finally cracked to the surface at the memory.

Suddenly, the glossed wooden door clicked as it moved on its hinges.

Yukimura pivoted from the waist quickly, his eyes hopefully falling at the person behind the doorway. He felt slightly crushed when it was the fresh face of one of the errand girls from the lobby downstairs, but he plastered on a quaint smile anyway.

"Good day, Yukimura-san. I see you're up. Did you have a good sleep?"

"Not really," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Horrible, really. All I do is sleep all day, or lie down. I'm never tired, really, since I can't do anything."

"I see…" she replied, the ends of her mouth curving down slightly. But then she replaced it with a brilliant beam and a perfect set of teeth in a smile that seemed to light up the room. "Well, perhaps this might cheer you up. I think it was one of your friends that dropped it off."

Her styled shoots clicked on the asphalt-colored tile as she glided to his bedside, gently placing a brown paper-wrapped present on the wrinkled blanket covering his lap.

"He was a spirited one… messy hair and bright green eyes? And a silver-haired lanky kid… They didn't give their names, but he said that I tell you he apologizes he couldn't give it in person. He said something about practice and an impatient fukubuchou…"

The girl pouted, tapping her chin as her brow creased in thought, trying to pull out all the sentence fragments he shot at her on his way running out the door. Yukimura nodded politely, in the back of his mind a sense of deep-seated care for his young underclassman and classmate warmed him.

He knew that, even for Yukimura, Sanada didn't allow too many breaks from practice.

_I'll have to thank him later for him going out of his way,_ the patient thought to himself, not having to force a smile onto his face anymore.

The nurse, sensing that it was a nice time to slip out of the room to let him open his gift, had backed out of the room with a small smile the second the blue-haired boy's eyes took on a faraway look as he drowned himself in his memories.

Seiichi's long, pale fingers searched for an edge to the package, and slipped a finger underneath the end of the crinkled paper, carefully unsticking the tape. He reached his hand down into the opening, and his fingers gingerly felt something soft, smooth.

He clenched the fabric in his fist, raising it out of the package.

Brilliant yellow and black rippled into his field of vision. His eyes traced the sleeves, trailed with red stars, and he appreciated the broad shoulders, the logo of the proud school of Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku on the front, and the simplicity of the powerful colors on the back.

The vertices of his smile quirked when a slip of paper fell from inside the jacket, fluttering into his lap.

The tennis captain carefully clenched the paper, turning it until it was upright, and read the haphazardly-written message with silent lips.

_**"We thought this might make the room brighten up a bit… and you're attitude. We can tell you're kind of… yeah. Morose…ish? Cheer up a bit, alright, buchou? Maybe this will remind you what to fight for! Don't give up! We're waiting!**_

_**Rikkai Tennis Team**_

Below the general heading was, Yukimura could bet, a signature of everyone on the tennis team. Each one was precious, even if seven signatures in particular stuck out the most.

Yukimura smirked gently, adjusting the jacket to slip over his shoulders. He tugged at the edges of the flaps, tightening it around himself. He leaned against the boring wall behind the skimpy headboard of the cot.

His mind was in a whir, yet each memory fragment clear. And a smile stayed plastered on his face; he couldn't wipe it off.

_ Don't worry, everyone,_ Yukimura thought. His fingers clenched tighter on the jacket. _I haven't forgotten._

_Not myself, not the tournament, not Rikkai, and least of all, you all._


End file.
